


reward schemes, or just scheming in general

by tragakes (lejf)



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Bottom Megatron, Crack, M/M, Megatron comes up with this wily plan to reward them by letting them do what they want to him, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 04:18:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14488647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lejf/pseuds/tragakes
Summary: “I thought you were a tyrant!” Prime said, after Starscream, Skywarp, several drones, and Soundwave threw themselves in front of Megatron to take a shot for him but collided in a shocking display of poor judgement. “Since when were your mech so loyal?!”“Well,” Megatron said.





	reward schemes, or just scheming in general

One day, Megatron realised with some horror that his Decepticons were inefficient to the point of negative progress. They were, in fact, so disorganised that Megatron _had_ to solve it somehow because he could feel his processor sliding towards gradual insanity. His verbal threats and posturing didn’t seem to be working, but he’d read in ‘How to Raise Sparklings’ that reward incentives for good behaviours could do just as well, if not better.

But what could he offer to his Decepticons as a reward? They all followed their own agendas. Their radical differences had led to their disaster of co-operation in the first place! The only thing that they seemed to agree upon was following the Decepticon cause at all, and that was either because of power, or … Megatron. Or just Megatron. Because he was powerful. And they wanted some way to claim power.

It was then that he was struck with a revelation so genius that it seemed like divine inspiration. 

He did not announce his newest reward scheme to his mechs. Following a mess of a debriefing (Skywarp and Thundercracker were flirting on their private comms — which yes, he _could tell_ ; Starscream was trying to find a way to drop a curl of barium, explosive, into his energon; Shockwave was trying to take the barium from Starscream to procure it for his own uses; someone had instigated a pede-kicking game under the table), the only mech paying attention and providing information was Soundwave. As usual. So as Megatron released his rabble of officers and they looked all too grateful to go, he told Soundwave to stay behind. 

“Soundwave,” he said, placing his claws on Soundwave’s shoulders — with some difficulty because those shoulders were ridged and not too wide and bracketed by disproportionate arms — and subtly steered him to his chair. Megatron’s chair. The chair of all power. “You serve me well, yet I have been … negligent in rewarding you. Exemplary Decepticons should see their efforts repaid in kind.”

Starscream’s quivering wing jutting out from the corridor was really _not_ stealthy.

Meanwhile, Soundwave’s visor showed a question mark, though he was receptive to Megatron easing him to sit down in The Chair. Megatron let his claws linger for a moment longer before withdrawing, hoping the ever-perceptive Soundwave would somehow get the hint. It wasn’t everyday that he propositioned a mech.

Then he hoisted himself up to sit on the edge of the table, in front of Soundwave, and for a second he felt the metal beneath his claws lurch threateningly and his mind flashed with the image of it breaking and him tumbling inelegantly and Starscream spreading it to every mech on board. That was just unreasonable. The table had survived countless mechs trying to throw it, countless mechs being thrown _onto_ it, and it was going to fail him _now_?

Luckily, though, true to its Decepticon heritage, the table held. With a deep ex-vent, Megatron looked down. Soundwave’s visor tilted up to meet his gaze. The question mark grew larger. Megatron, very slowly, very deliberately, spread his legs. 

Soundwave’s visor went blank.

“You are allowed to touch,” Megatron told him, and ran a claw down his own torso, skimming over his panel. He had specifically chosen his place so that any watching Decepticon from the doorway would only be able to see his back. His servos dipped into the sensitive seams connecting his panel to thigh and he gave a full-framed shiver, suddenly feeling absurdly embarrassed. Couldn’t Soundwave show any more reactions? Was Megatron just making a fool of himself?

As though hearing his thoughts — which he probably did — Soundwave reached out a long, delicate, hand and rested it on his thigh. That touch was all that felt necessary to ground Megatron. It was somehow full of intent, that hand, somehow promising to touch more even though it did not move. Megatron took Soundwave’s other hand, that long sleek plating catching the light as it unfolded, and raised it to his mouth. Soundwave accepted the prompt and pushed his fingers inside, cool steel, pressing down on his glossa and exploring the wetness there. Megatron held back a squirm. It was ridiculous to feel embarrassed. He was the one supposed to be seducing here. He couldn’t help but feel … clunky. Too big for this. He was a warframe. But he was also _Megatron_. There was nothing he couldn’t do if he put his processor into it. 

He resumed the movement of his claw against his panel, dragging along its delicate edges. The fingers in his mouth pumped, drawing back and then sliding smoothly deep, and somehow the implications of eroticism were too much and Megatron couldn’t hold back a groan — and the snap of his interface panel, sliding open.

Soundwave froze. Megatron’s spark stopped. Wrong move? A data-cable rushed out of Soundwave not to Megatron, but past him. He heard the distinctive clang of a seeker being tossed down a corridor and then the door to the conference room slammed shut. Megatron hadn’t even known a sliding door _could_ slam, but he wasn’t about to ask how he could make doors slam too because Soundwave’s hand made its way to his exposed array and began toying with the nub of his still un-pressurised spike.

He could hear his plating rattling with the effort not to arch into Soundwave’s touch. Considering Starscream wasn’t listening at the door anymore, and that it was only his most loyal and arguably most capable warrior with him, he let himself ex-vent shakily around those sleek fingers that held his mouth open with only a thumb, stroking along his jaw. 

He started burning up inside. Desire, which he hadn’t honestly entertained for a long while, manifested in small twitches of his valve, beads of lubricant making its lips shine. Soundwave toyed around it and ran a single finger across its folds to spread its wetness. Megatron couldn’t tell if he was feigning interest, actually interested, aroused, apprehensive, or anything at all. Soundwave was a perfect mask. But as a data-cable draped across his thighs, hinting at weight pinning him down, to rest in front of his valve, he had to hope it was something a little interested.

Soundwave’s panel hadn’t opened, though Soundwave didn’t seem to mind. His hand left Megatron’s mouth and stopped at his hips instead, as though admiring the narrowness of it in contrast to his broad torso, while the other still ran over Megatron’s sizeable now-pressured spike. Megatron’s valve had parted in anticipation, energon diverted to letting its opening swell. The presence of the data-cable laying in front of it was tangible. He could feel the heat radiating from it. He was so _close_.

His hips slipped forwards so that the gripper of Soundwave’s cable pressed into his valve, just slightly, spreading it in a way that seemed almost accidental. Soundwave noticed because his hand stopped moving on Megatron’s spike. He’d noticed — definitely — because his hand dipped over the cable and straight into Megatron’s valve, thrusting his narrow and probing finger in, curling to ignite clustered nodes that sent Megatron’s world reeling. 

“Aaah!” He was squirming now, and Soundwave took it in stride, pressing in more fingers. The other hand shoved back into his mouth and began thrusting into the heat there too. Megatron felt himself falling apart, Soundwave’s two hands pumping into him and spreading him. His moan for _Soundwave_ was muffled, but Soundwave knew its meaning and rammed faster, scraping over nodes almost painfully but in a way that was too good to ignore. Then one of the cables, thick and unforgiving, with its grippers tucked together so not to injure, plunged into his valve, spiralling and twisting into him, warm and plush, and then _opened_ its grippers, spreading him open with the illusion that it was so much thicker than it was. Overload slammed through Megatron. Soundwave stopped moving as well, as though overloading too, cable shoved right up to the ceiling of Megatron’s valve.

He shook and cried out through the entirety of it, sensation blurring, valve walls cycling desperately. When he came down, he practically whined as Soundwave pulled out very slowly and gently. His spark throbbed in his chest and his optics re-focused slowly. He’d practically sprayed lubricant from his valve and transfluid from his spike all down Soundwave’s plating with his overload. What kind of leader was so obscene?

Soundwave’s thumb wiped away the wetness at that Megatron hadn’t realised had gathered at the corner of his mouth. Then Soundwave himself stood, rather unsteadily, and revealed transfluid trickling from around his still-shut panel all over Megatron’s chair. So he _had_ overloaded. _Inside his own panel_.

Soundwave began cleaning up with all the meticulousness of the usual Soundwave that Megatron could hardly believe what had just happened. He had a cloth out of his subspace that was wiping gingerly over Megatron’s panel and over his own arms. 

This was not an affair, Megatron sent as a thought as gently as he could. It was an incentive. To work harder.

Soundwave's visor flashed. Megatron could swear that it was a determined flash. 

When they left, it was without a speck of fluid. But the dishevelled look was there, and Megatron found himself flaunting it through the ship. Just a little.

*

Previously, Megatron thought Soundwave was working at 100% efficiency. Over the orn, though, he realised that he’d never seen Soundwave’s true vigour. He worked through reports with a speed and accuracy that terrified the other mechs. A previous backlog of menial complaints that Decepticons had filed for idiotic things (changing their work shifts of night watch hours) vanished under his rapid fingers and were delivered with cut-throat fastidiousness. Extensive calculations and data-sheets appeared, compiling the most favourable battle times, locations, and outcomes; their statistical probability given different manoeuvres; modelling programs of the movements of the Autobots with more probabilities and simulations for testing. Since Soundwave also knew that Starscream was Megatron’s headache, he went to shocking lengths of surveillance and ominous hovering that almost creeped Starscream out of his assassination attempts.

Not all mechs might’ve known what Megatron had done, but they were certainly seeing its effects on Soundwave.

So the next few meetings had Megatron requesting Soundwave to stay behind while he rode Soundwave’s fingers to overload. It wasn’t entirely selfless. Megatron wanted to see him do well; he wanted to _be able_ to justify ‘rewarding’ Soundwave when, really, he was the one brought pleasure. Soundwave had only recently began opening his panel that Megatron groaned at the sight of, baring a swollen and dripping spike and hinting of a darkly glistening valve, teasing just the tip into Megatron’s wanting opening but never penetrating… when Starscream caught on. 

“You’re fragging him,” Starscream hissed as he accosted Megatron on his way to his quarters after having overloaded twice in a row, a little dazed.

“I’m rewarding him,” Megatron said.

“Reward? What sort of reward is that? Who would want to get fragged by your sorry old aft!“

That stung. Just a little. “I’m not that old.”

“Right,” Starscream scoffed. Megatron honestly wanted to smack himself upside the head for ever choosing to exist near Starscream. “I bet you overload before he even does and get all _soft_ , but since you’re our _oh mighty Megatron_ he–”

“He spikes,” Megatron said.

“What?” Starscream’s voice went very high-pitched. If Megatron was feeling daring, he would’ve described it as a squeak. 

“Soundwave spikes,” Megatron repeated. If Starscream decided insult that Megatron was using his valve— well, it wasn’t a worry either way, because Starscream about-faced and bolted off so suddenly in a strange stiff way that Megatron was left alone in the corridor, dumbfounded. He’d never seen such a reaction out of Starscream before. Surely, he decided, that was a good sign.

The next cycle, he was informed that Starscream, as their Air Commander, hadn’t been in the base all day. He’d been pushing the seekers into practising some inane new stunts and by evening had _somehow_ authorised a raid on a human settlement that Megatron would’ve raged at for going unauthorised, except they returned without a single wound, significant energon prizes, and a very significant patch of previously-Autobot turf.

Through the debriefing, he internally warred. He could ‘reward’ Starscream. It’d inflate his ego. It’d encourage his unauthorised behaviour. … But if going off on his own could return such good results? Perhaps Starscream’s judgement should’ve been trusted more often.

It was obviously a test into the waters by Starscream to see if Megatron _would_ offer what he was offering Soundwave to him as well. If Megatron chose not to, would Starscream take it as a sign that Megatron was too biased to ever reward him for his efforts and continue in his misbehaving ways? Starscream was not the most patient of mechs, and Megatron knew it must’ve been genuinely tiring to have been training all morning and afternoon and then planning and executing a raid in the evening. It was likely that this was the only time he was going to try, and it was likely that this was the only time he was going to produce such admirable results because his motivation was still fresh. 

So when the de-briefing was dismissed, Megatron suspiciously silent throughout it, he asked for Starscream to stay behind. The turn of Soundwave just before he left the room made it obvious that at least one mech knew what would happen.

Starscream stood before him, expectant. His wings practically trembled in anticipation. Megatron seriously, honestly, considered changing his mind and reprimanding him instead, but Starscream _had_ done well today, despite not informing Megatron beforehand. Megatron was more dedicated to his cause than pettiness. Most of the time. 

With a heavy ex-vent, Megatron raised himself to the table, settling on its edge because it happened to be at the perfect height for most of the mechs serving him. Nowadays the table no longer lurched went he sat on it. Either it had learnt its lesson or he’d lost weight. … Neither of which were really plausible, so that mystery would go unsolved, Megatron supposed.

He met Starscream’s expectant look with one of resignation. He felt like he’d just lost some sort of battle of wills. “You did well today, Starscream,” Megatron said, reminding himself never to get familiar with that phrase. But it’d technically be good if he did, because that’d mean that his SIC was performing admirably on the first. 

… The cause came first. Over pettiness. Yes. Of course. 

“I cannot offer you greater energon rations, nor rest, nor glory that I have not already given you. But I can offer you… my openness.This is entirely your choice to take, and you may do with me whatever you wish — though if I am injured or otherwise uncomfortable, I reserve the right to terminate any actions.” He said it as though he’d prepared a speech. He had. But it came a little more rushed than he’d intended it to. 

“Aaanything?” Starscream gloated, drawing out the the ‘a’ as though to be as obnoxious as conceivably possible. He’d stepped forwards, boldly, a hand already toying at some of the plating over Megatron’s abdomen, sliding deliberately lower. “Can I tell you to get down on the ground and bark like a turbopuppy for me?”

“No,” Megatron said.

“Well good,” Starscream said, “that would’ve been just too weird.”

“Then why did you ask?” 

“To check if you hadn’t been _fully_ processor-napped, of course,” Starscream griped back. “This would be no fun if you weren’t still a warlord — still, you know, big mighty _Megatron_.” There was enough of a leer there that Megatron knew was Starscream pressing boundaries, deliberately rubbing in the fact that the Decepticon leader would willingly spread his legs for Starscream to stand between.

Starscream’s hand was on his panel now. It was just rubbing small soothing little circles over the metal, gradually building charge, and Megatron could say that he hadn’t expected so much finesse from Starscream. That said, he must’ve been smart enough to know roughness would mean a repeat performance would be very unlikely.

Risking a glance towards Starscream’s face, he saw utter focus in those usually conniving red optics. It was absurd. Surreal. Then they flickered up and Megatron was aware that he had been caught out, staring. Starscream’s lips curled into a smirk. He learned forwards more, placing his other hand on the outside of Megatron’s right legs, bracketing him. 

“Open,” he purred, and Megatron — before he could even run through the entire process of considering disobeying for the sheer sake that it was Starscream — did. The next thing he knew, Starscream had lowered himself to ex-vent over his rapidly-lubricating valve. He _felt_ rather than heard Starscream’s amused snort (the fragger) as he must’ve noticed the pooling wetness there. 

Megatron would not give in to the desire to groan. But he couldn’t take his optics off Starscream there between his legs, easing a claw into Megatron’s relatively small valve with a disbelief that bordered on reverent. “You’re tight,” he said, somewhat surprised. “I thought Soundwave was bending you over every surface in this place!”

The thought of that, being used as Soundwave pleased, in front of the entire army, even during a debriefing, being pushed down and plowed across the table, scattering datapads— made Megatron clench down hard and gush more lubricant. His face was aflame. He hoped he could pass it off as a protesting clench, but Starscream definitely knew. There was no way he didn’t; Starscream lived to try to humiliate Megatron. 

Megatron had to have some way of fighting back. “He hasn’t spiked me yet.”

“You said—”

“Not full spike-in-valve overload,” Megatron said. Now Starscream would know that Megatron had deliberately taunted him on false pretences into this entire affair. 

In punishment Starscream latched his mouth over Megatron’s valve and _sucked_. Nerves in his thighs jumped, his entire body curling forwards under the sheer surge of arousal that blew his circuits open with charge. Starscream’s skilled glossa was pushing into his valve, teasing at its walls, flicking over nodes that seemed to pop white flashes in his processor each time they were stimulated.

Holding back moans became a lost cause. 

Starscream was _smiling_ , the slagger! But Megatron couldn’t… quite… bring himself to chastise him because it felt too good. He tipped his hips forwards slightly, wordlessly urging Starscream for more, and Starscream gave. He dove into licking, sucking, and lavishing Megatron’s valve with an enthusiasm Megatron would’ve believed impossible if he weren’t actually there and coming apart under Starscream’s touch.

As Starscream drew back, Megatron could feel his folds trembling in the wake of the stimulation. A small, chaste, kiss was left against the entrance to his valve. “Cute,” Starscream said. It was probably meant to be a sneer but came out more as a coo.

“Say that again and I’ll shoot you.”

“Of course.” Was Megatron imagining it, or did Starscream seem a little dazed too? Not that Megatron wanted to look too closely at his face where his own fluids had smeared that pale white plating.

The dazed slid into sly and Starscream was leaning closer, a source of heat. His claws dipped back into Megatron’s valve, playing with the wetness there, into its lush give; and he urged Megatron back until he was laying on the table, looking up at his SIC, legs spread on either side of Starscream’s hips.

Megatron couldn’t conceive of anything better than Starscream spiking him right then, but he wasn’t about to admit it. He _could_ tense around Starscream’s claws, though, fluttering and squeezing and promising him what it’d feel like if Starscream chose to enter him. Starscream’s optics filled with something predatory. Megatron expected he was playing out Starscream’s Fantasies, episode #1 to #99.

What he _didn’t_ expect was for Starscream’s claws to tease not against his valve, but squeeze his aft and then dip into his aft port. Ports there were rarely used for anything, nowadays redundant, present on older models like Megatron when internal surgery hadn’t been so easy to come by — they were mostly medical in use, allowing cables access up into systems that weren’t connected to those that the valve accessed.

There weren’t any nodes for pleasurable charge in it, but Megatron found that the charge leapt _through_ him, from the nodes in his valve to the claw pushing into his small, tight port, lancing through his circuity and sending a fresh trickle of lubricant from his valve. Starscream caught it and tucked it back with his mouth and glossa.

Splayed out over the table, pierced by Starscream’s tongue and fingered by his claws, Megatron hit overload in record time (in a way that was reminiscent of the last time he’d thrown Starscream out a skylight — sky-high). His back formed a tight arch and his claws scrabbled futilely against the table and he gritted his dentae to hold back a shout. 

And apparently Starscream decided that wasn’t enough, because he continued on with even more ferocity, three claws in Megatron’s aft now, pistoning in and out obscenely until Megatron’s aft was as tender and open as his valve. When he shoved in a forth, Megatron overloaded again, but this time his shout came out more as a whimper. 

Dimly, he realised that the sensation had eased because Starscream had drawn back, his optics locked onto Megatron’s face and dribbling valve as he pumped a claw over his own spike. 

“You didn’t overload? I thought I was desirable.” Megatron felt slightly insulted. 

“You are,” Starscream said, without slowing down any, claws practically a blur on his spike. He seemed to be putting in colossal effort to kept his voice steady. “Very. That’s why I’m trying to get off over here, Megatron.”

Deciding his pride wouldn’t be dishonoured, Megatron rose from the table, startled when his legs were weaker than he’d expected. They were actually shaking after the intensity of his overloads — and he slid to his knees in front of Starscream in a way that he hoped look intentional. He tipped his face up and found that he could almost say that Starscream looked gorgeous from the lower angle, armour glinting with lights. Megatron opened his mouth.

He swore he saw Starscream’s optics _dilate_ by several centimetres — that couldn’t be normal — before transfluid shot across his face. Eyes instinctively shuttered against it, he kept his mouth parted until he felt the blunt tip of Starscream’s spike eased between his lips. He suckled, glossa swiping over its head to collect any remaining fluid, and felt the spike give a few more heavy twitches before Starscream pulled away.

He onlined his optics, not ready to stand yet. Starscream’s expression was exactly what he’d expected.

“Don’t look so smug,” Megatron said, remembering that Starscream had raided without his authority. He pulled coherence out of his aft and tried to shove it at Starscream to remind him that he was still Decepticon warlord. “I granted you lenience this once. I _am_ your commanding leader for a reason. Even a transmission — if your window of opportunity is too short for a report — does not take so much effort. Subvert your responsibility to communicate and this won’t happen again.”

“Of course, of course,” Starscream purred, looking very much content. Megatron spat his own transfluid at him.

*

Word got out in base. Of course it did. Starscream couldn’t have possibly kept his mouth shut (not that it was a bad thing). Most mechs didn’t seem to care about it, assuming it was just some reward reserved for the SIC and TIC, until Skywarp pulled possibly the most magnificent stunt Megatron had ever seen, looping neatly through multiple barrages of bullets and curling into a straight downwards-turn corkscrew that caught a launched missile from the Autobots in his arms to teleport it behind Optimus Prime.

Megatron would’ve ‘faced him on the battlefield right there and then, but he had to show some restraint.

The Autobots retreated to take Prime to safety, and the Decepticons made away with a successful raid. As they debriefed, Megatron sent a private comm. to Skywarp — and so before the rest of the mechs had even left the debriefing room, Skywarp had teleported onto his lap and was squirming there enthusiastically. 

The encounter ended with Skywarp held up only by Megatron’s arms as Megatron pummelled his small valve, pawing and keening desperately. Megatron practically roared his overload as he filled up the beautiful seeker.

A crowd had gathered in the doorway.

This let loose the floodgate. Megatron did not think he’d ever seen his Decepticons ever working so productively. They’d win the war at this rate. 

Soundwave and Starscream, as usual, were the most competitive, though Megatron had definitely found himself riding Shockwave’s cannon after Shockwave had bridged on board one time. 

Of course they turned to sabotage at some point — he caught Starscream brawling with Soundwave, Starscream half-way to tying ribbons and knots with Soundwave’s data-cables, and chewed them both out. Then he practically snapped his panel closed and would not put out to any mech for a month. It was not about who was the best. It was about who did _well_ , and this was independent of how their peers did. 

So this meant that when the entire army did admirably, Megatron offered himself up to all of them. Out there on the Commanding deck — of course Starscream took the first move. He bent Megatron over one of the consoles, demanded him open his panels, and plunged a claw into his valve. Drones milling on the deck stopped to stare. 

Starscream cajoled them closer, and they began drifting in like moths to the light. Megatron was kept helm-down mostly for the sake of the drones, he assumed, because they were likely terrified that he’d see and remember their faces and destroy them later. 

Instead, while Starscream fingered his aft and slicked it with his own lubricant, the thick spike of a drone pressed into his valve until he was groaning and arching his back and whimpering for more, aching with a heat that they couldn’t seem to fill.

When they saw that he was still limp and willing to be hauled and manipulated around, though, Starscream batted away the drone using his valve.

Megatron moaned a protest but found that he was being turned around over. Starscream was pressing him down onto all fours, cooing as he settled on top of Megatron, guiding his spike to his aft. Megatron nearly buckled as Starscream entered him, kept upright by a vehicon’s claw that tipped his head up and shoved a spike between his lips. Another vehicon pushed a spike into his valve so Megatron was filled with all three at once, jostled between them carelessly. Spikes were pressed onto his plating wherever they could reach, rubbed against his cheeks, against the curve of his aft.

He lost his sense of time as he was fragged. He couldn't remember being so full, torn between rocking back on the spikes in the aft and valve or forwards to the spike down his intake. Charge crackled through him and made him loose and pliant. Starscream was groping his aft as he fragged him, squeezing the plush globes of them and then gripping his hips to drag him up and down their spikes. Megatron felt open and used and had never felt better.

There was one particularly insistent drone that kept trying to force his intake wider with his claws. They left stinging lines around the corners of his mouth, jabbing his plating painfully, and he decided that he did not like it. At all. Above the cooling-fan din and clanging of metal, the sound of his fusion cannon powering made every mech freeze.

Starscream looked up from where he had been admiring Megatron's aft. Then his null-ray burst to life and the offending drone fell back, and as though that was a signal, the other vehicons mobbed him and dragged him away.

The remaining servos of drones and Starscream were petting him, picking up their rhythms again, doting but most importantly  _filling_ and pounding him between them in a wanton promise to make him feel good.

He knew Soundwave had arrived at some point because a data-cable curled beside the spike in his valve, pulsing rhythmically while the spike in his mouth overloaded and shot hot transfluid down his intake. As it pulled away it was immediately replaced, mechs jockeying for position. The ones who had been sated stumbled away, stunned. Renewed in their devotion to Megatron and the Decepticon cause. 

The other vehicon overloaded and Megatron felt the now-familiar gush of transfluid wet his valve. Soundwave moved to fill the space, pumping him wide with two data-cables almost instantly, another one wrapping around Megatron’s throbbing spike and pushing him to further heights of ecstasy.

When Starscream overloaded, he bit down. Megatron could feel his aft fluttering with the sudden heat, though Starscream didn't stop. He continued on like a machine, churning his transfluid deeper into Megatron.

Half his army was here. They really would win the war. 

*

“So they’ve been fragging you,” Prime said, slightly hysterically, after Megatron recounted an incident where he’d managed to get Starscream and Soundwave to frag each other in a glorious turn of hate-sex. They were still on the battlefield, explosions rocking the buildings behind them.

“Would you like to try?” 

Prime’s pede caught a stone. He went down hard. Megatron shot him in the helm and laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a weird meandering musing for you all: why does a lot of transformers porn mention callipers inside their valves? The callipers that always described as cycling and fluttering?
> 
> I’m familiar with a calliper as a measuring equipment. Google tells me another definitions are a clamping car break or a leg splint. Out of these, the most well-known one is the measuring calliper, which is most commonly a vernier calliper. So, if you’re not familiar, imagine a wrench designed to measure between its jaws. If their jaws moved and cycled, they’d be pinching like angry crabs
> 
> I can see some logic in their entire valves being adjustable in width like calliper jaws, and that the unforgiving metal of their jaws might be coated over by the valve mech lining. But then, by that reasoning, you could also just call them adjustable wrenches because neither of them are serving their original function (measuring, or screwing (hah!), respectively) but are similar in having some adjustable width. It just strikes me as odd, especially because I’ve used the equipment in the lab and it jumps out with out-of-place measuring associations to me each time.
> 
> Also don’t forget adjustable wrenches are what the _vernier_ callipers are like. The original callipers just looked like compasses or tweezers, and were also not bendy or giving at all (can’t measure things reliably with a wriggling measure). Though I … can’t fathom how a compass would work in a transformer’s valve. That's beyond my weak brain's capacity. But definitely 'vernier' would be taken out, because vernier specifies some part of the _measurement_.
> 
> i’ve been taking it in stride so far — seriously, this isn’t a jab at anyone who’s mentioned callipers in their stories before, I think I honestly might’ve mentioned them before too — but one day the need for an answer just back-handed me. I gotta figure out this mystery, guys. Is this all the lead-up to some elaborate joke about dick-measuring?


End file.
